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But death, as it seemed, would end in death.

With a kick of his slop caked shoes into the painted wood panels of the wheel of fortune, Chauhn was able to wedge the daggers free from the wood grain, and with it came the bell Locos' body. He had pried free just one from her hands, and then the other, but he didn't expect on the slump of the Locos to lean towards and ultimately on top of his small body. He had managed to give a bleat of sound as the dead weight of the bloodied Plague fell onto his body, and, try as he might, he couldn't hold it up. She was light for being a girl, but there was no weight like those of the dead, a single and unstoppable force that stubbornly refused any assistance if it were given. Chauhn felt his knees buckle from underneath him and the dead Locos' weight fell onto his lap, promptly crushing his legs and stomach underneath. There was a dim thought of relief that she hadn't fallen completely onto him, for, upon his chest, was the body of little Clurie, tucked against the scar of his burned flesh, before he was again, stricken with the panic-driven thoughts to do something, anything.

"No...nh...No, please!" he breathed, his voice coming out in high-pitched squeaks and hitches of sound. He strained and wrestled his body, wiggling and kicking until his legs and feet were finally free from underneath her and from that point he scrambled onto his knees to bend over her, glancing to the foot of the wheel of fortune where her legs were still attached to the boards by the daggers, halfway twisted free from the board from falling, and grossly broken and skewered by the stubborn dagger through the too easily mutilated flesh. It was, though, to Chauhn, flesh all the same.

Leaning over her twisted body, Chauhn cradled her shoulders with his arms, trying to shake her awake, his own eyes still blurred with moisture, despite the dagger embedded into the center of her forehead, as if it were a grim horn to mark the rarity of her kind. He refused to believe that she could die, that she could, at that very moment, be prone to the very mortality that Chauhn fought every day to stave away. It meant to him that, if she could die, a very special someone...Might also be able to die. It was that so similar resigning to death that Chauhn was so afraid of, so stubborn to accept. So, shake and scream, and even slap at the once-warm face, Chauhn did, his anger almost besting him.

"No! You 'ave someone who needs you!" Chauhn heard himself shrieking at the dead body, his dirtied hands digging tight into her shoulders as the warm was steadily swollen away by the Colwe cold. "'E needs you, you're 'is everythin', you can't die! 'Ow can you die? 'Ow? You're supposed to come back from death 'n' stay, no' return to it!"

But the pale blood Locos was cold, and growing colder still.

Blinking a few tears to quell the burning red on his cheeks, Chauhn lifted his head, looking straight ahead in the same moment that the boy to whom the dead Plague belonged, choked up a gleaming blade. Chauhn's breath was kicked from his chest, his eyes widening past disbelief as he watched the bell boy, a meager boy of humble roots, much like himself, tumble forward onto the ground, a twitching heap as he mouthed the sharp blade that was pushed into and through his throat from the back of his head. His eyes were still open, still locked on the form of his sister.

Then the Quietus came, a roaring, galloping crowd of black-eyed terrors, uncaring of where they stepped or kicked, swamping back onto the stage in one last ditch retreat. Again, Chauhn had no air with which to breathe, already having his breath stolen from him, and he choked wildly as they jumped onto the stage. But again, there was that strange driving force. Family. The bell boy and the bell Locos were brother and sister. They were family. They ought to be together, always and forever.

Chauhn lifted up with the grace of a collapsing tent, his legs constantly dropping out from underneath him as he rushed forward and away from the Locos. Headlong into the retreating Quietus Plagues Chauhn pushed, as Sloane, nearby and raging wild, threw himself into mindless battle. The bell boy's body was being trapped and broken on stage, as easily as he were a bundle of forgotten hay, getting kicked into and apart by the fleeing Quietus. Few times was he pushed and shoved, thrown and tossed carelessly to the side, but soon he clumsily knelt before the dead bell boy. His blood, human blood, spilled out about him, haloing his head and matting his hair, filling his mouth and quickly did the stench of a recently released body, fill Chauhn's nose. But despite this, Chauhn acted. Blinking wildly, his eyes burning as hot as Clurie's cheeks, Chauhn delved his hands underneath the bell boy's arms, and with the kick and pull of his body, did he drag the still-warm corpse towards the wheel of fortune. It was difficult, his arms soaked with blood and his lap and legs catching the leak and spill of red, but Chauhn was a resolute one, and he shifted and pulled the boy's dead body across the few yards to the wheel of fortune. The urchin's own body was hot and sweating, shaking from the effort, trembling from the terror, and he squeaked as he breathed.

"Com'on!" Chauhn shouted through grit teeth, pulling the dead body with his all his strength, until finally he was able to drop the bell boy near his sister. "You 'ave to be together...Family always sticks together, always...That's what family do, 'n' you're...You're..." Chauhn collapsed, dropping his lifeless cargo between his ankles. He had ended up positioning the two siblings together so that one was curled around the other, their heads mere inches away from each other opened eyed and staring as they wrapped about one another one's chest. If the wounds and weapons were to be forgotten, it might have looked like the brother and sister had just fallen asleep together on stage after a tiring rehearsal. But it was not so. They eyes were still open, as cold and bland as marbles.

Chauhn, collapsed after dragging the dead weight, looked back over the obvious smear of blood that the bell body's body left stretched upon the worn wood of the stage. There were small gasps, little piques of voices somewhere near, sounding like the same volume of Clurie's...Excitos voices, and, sure enough, there were, left in his bloody trail, a few bells which had spilled free from his pockets, which were transforming quickly into gold and silver Excitos, tottering about in the blood as if they had just woken up, unable to do anything else than gasp when they were suddenly stepped upon by the fleeing Quietus which still rushed about them in a roaring stampede. Little Excitos...Just like Clurie. They were getting caught and kicked by the passerby's heel, heedless of the danger they were in.

"Oh no...No, not any more!" Chauhn wheezed, his breath weak with horror as the little bodies were pressed and broken upon the stage. It was more testimony to death, more blaring reminders to the delicate mortality, that single thing they all shared in common, that Chauhn didn't want to see. With his hands and clothes caked in drying blood, as if he had just committed the foul murder of both Plague and boy alike with his bare hands, Chauhn scrambled forward onto his knees, leaping forward enough to save one of the few bell Excitos near him, a small golden girl who had fallen free from Chauhn's dragging of the bell boy's body. She gave a small squeak as she was picked up, but with the quick motions that only terror could guide, he opened up his shirt and dropped her within, to where Clurie huddled in a ball.

Clurie, who wasn't expecting anything beyond the rapid staccato of Chauhn's heart, jumped the moment another little Excito body fell upon him. He wiggled himself free from underneath her, which was a difficult task considering that Chauhn was moving and ducking as he crawled about on the stage, but he did the best he could so he could see the intruder. She was a bright white little thing, as big as Clurie, and lost in folds of gold from her little dress and whenever she shifted and moved, trying to get her bearings, she would make a little tinkling of sound.

Clurie gaped, seeing that she, like him, was trembling, "Hey! Where did you come from?" he asked, but she could only shake and stare at him in reply. Chauhn gave another jerk then, throwing the two small Excito into one in the sanctuary of Chauhn's shirt.

The reason for Chauhn's sudden movement was no other than the reckless jumping in the way of a retreating Quietus who had, just about, stepped on another one of the Excitos, a small silver fellow who was upon his knees and trying to get his feet underneath him, if it weren't for Chauhn throwing himself over the little body, scooping him up into his arms and taking the full force of the Quietus' leg into his side and ribs. The Clemmings boy sucked in a deep inhale, a pain blossoming in his side from the kick he had thrown himself into, and he remained curled up there on stage amidst the chaos as the last dregs of the fleeing circus performers left. The little Excitos, who, when he breathed, sounded like the scratch of metal, did little to protest Chauhn as he picked him up and also dropped him into the safety of his collar. There were no more left to protect, no more that had survived the trample, and Chauhn, still close to the dead bodies and the wheel of fortune, was suddenly possessed with the need to escape.

With his last dregs of adrenaline, the boy lifted himself up halfway to his knees, and he glanced towards the front of the stage, hoping for an escape, but instead, was faced with a wall of prepared spears and soldiers, a cold and mindless wall of Colwe protection that would kill until anything and everything stopped moving. With his body reacting faster than his mind, Chauhn twisted about to try and look the opposite direction, but was immediately rushed in upon by a group of Cultists, black robed masked men who Chauhn had become entirely too familiar with. Fear throttled the air from him, his bruised ribs clutching tight at his lungs as he struggled to inhale a gasp of air, but even with that sudden boost of fear, Chauhn couldn't move. So stricken was he, cornered by the city's forces, barged in upon by the Cultists, and entirely bundled up in fear, that Chauhn let his knees drop from underneath him. he wrapped his bloody arms around his chest, intending to protect the three Excitos within, and he curled up on the ground as the mindless parties, from all sides, seemed to converge. The urchin boy closed his eyes tight, gritted his teeth even tighter, and defensively curled his body as tightly as he could go.

"Bye~"

Then, all about him, they were gone. Completely and utterly wiped from the face of existence. Hearing the wood boards creak in relief as a significant portion of the weight upon them vanished into thin air, Chauhn carefully peeled open an eye, blinking at the suddenly empty stage. But still, he remained curled up and small, his body so tense with fear that he couldn't unfold himself.

It was with a pitiful sounding call, after long moments of silence, of quiet long enough to foster the startled murmur and shock from those who were brave enough to stay and look on, that Chauhn Clemmings called out for one person in particular, one person that he could call upon and honestly trust with everything his urchin self feared to lose. It started off as a low mutter, evolving into a loud and anguished wail.

"Sloooaaanee!"

What answered his call was not Sloane, but a monster, a terrible beady eyed thing, with blood twisted into sickly strands of hair that covered its face, a shambling mess from the carnival nightmare the Colwe magic show had become. Immediately, the urchin wailed and pushed himself away, joining the huddle of dead Plague and Grimm bodies in a vain effort to keep himself hidden from the quivering beast. But it was all for naught, it kept coming forward. Then, Chauhn realized just who the monster was.

Stumbling towards where his form lay huddled in upon itself, his own shoulders trembling so bad that they knocked about his ears, was Sloane, also blood covered and weary from having been possessed by an anger that was not like him. Though, with first glance, Chauhn's body gave a reflexive flinch, for he had first thought that the red and black drenched Plague was none other but another masker from the circus, come with grim intent to silence the wailing boy. With the madness that guided his body before, a terrible sight that Chauhn had glanced to only to glance back away as if to shut out a nightmare before it completed itself, it wasn't hard to make the slip in judgment. Chauhn couldn't help himself from giving a terrible shriek of fear in his defense, as if to drive away the man who stumbled towards him, until he noticed the little Excitos gathered and clutching close to his neck.

Ending his howl, Chauhn blinked furiously, trying to clear his own vision long enough to stare harder at the man as he knelt and lay a gentle, although trembling, hand upon his flinching back, whilst a little flood of saved Excitos scattered about them, looking immediately for hiding places upon the stage, chiming and tinkling as they scrambled. Once he was able to understand the gut-wrenching wail from the devastated Sword Plague, who still, at that very time, was unable to save anyone but a handful of Excitos, Chauhn understood that it was Sloane again kneeling before him, not that raging monster that he had been moments before. Though traces of the monster still remained, curling sharp fingers into the flesh of stage. That which had once been terrifying had since been quelled, but still...Chauhn had never seen Sloane like that before, so out of control, so wild and thoughtless. The image of his shining knight had, at that vicious display of rage and madness, been torn in twain, half dipped in shadow, half dipped in light, but tainted all the same, the same could be said of his trust in the Sword Plague.

It took a great deal of effort to lift himself up with the push of his arms, and greater effort still, for Chauhn to convince his doubting self to shift closer to Sloane, his own arms wrapped tightly about his chest to support the three little bodies within it as he tucked himself more underneath Sloane's arm. The knight was there, still there, despite being covered in blood, despite being a monster in a shining suit, and that knight had once been Chauhn's savior and would very well be his savior again.

With teeth clacking together beyond his control, Chauhn was able to stammer out a few slurred words, his mind still thinking underneath the crushing grip of terror.

"Sloane...E-estratus..." he squeaked, "Sloane, we gotta....G-go."

Loosening his grip on the urchin's shirt, Sloane allowed the boy to tuck himself beneath it. It took a few seconds but he wrapped his arm around the back of the boy's shoulders and drew him closer so their heads touched as he continued to let out his muted sobs.

"E-Estratus."

Sloane's eyes shot open and he let out a confused and quiet murmur, vision taking a moment to clear as the remaining tears released themselves. His eyes burned and his face ached and he lifted his head up to look at Chauhn as he tried to usher the much larger man up, to make him move. "Sage?" he asked shakily, trying to confirm whether it was her or Beatrix that Chauhn was referring to, temporarily forgetting that there was such a deception as to her identity.

Before the boy had time to respond, a familiar voice called out both of their names and rushed over to their direction. Distraught, he looked over his shoulder at the figure and confirmed that it was Jin-ho and, by extension, Blaithe.

On his right shoulder, the gold and silver bell huddled close, tucking themselves in the warmth of Sloane's shirt collar and holding onto the fabric, his hair, and each other as they shivered and clutched their eyes closed. Sloane felt them and returned slightly more to reality than before, hearing Blaithe's voice calling out to Chauhn and asking about Clurie, same as Jin-ho.

Her tiny voice came through after a moment of silence, directed at him. The only response he could give at that moment was a short gasp of a sob. Leaning forward to peer into the hat, he could see the identical silver boy and the injured golden girl and the tears began anew.

For Chauhn Clemmings, the physical presence of another had never been so close as it was with Sloane, both in trust and in physicality. There was no one else, as of yet, that Chauhn had allowed so close into his space, a thing which was a monumental achievement for anyone around the paranoid boy of the streets. Sloane had since achieved that ability. When he felt the Plague's head grace against the top of his, smearing further blood into his dull flax of hair, Chauhn gave another violent flinch before he was able to relax enough to not follow his gut's desire to wiggle free and away and into some protective corner or underneath some dark forgotten architecture. Being yanked up closer, however, brought forth another whimper, the ache of his side getting kicked with the full force of a fleeing Quietus' boot, was sharp and fresh. He knew not what damage it had done to him, but frankly, he could hardly feel it, drugged up on his own adrenaline as he was. He was alright here, though, and it was underneath Sloane's arm, pulled up into place, that the Clemmings boy was able to summon up a few dregs of strength enough to keep him going through the aftermath of Pandymium's Greatest Show on Earth.

He heard Lady Estratus' name utter from Sloane's lips, the only word he had heard the Plague murmur amid his animal like mutterings, just moments before a clearer voice called out to them. Twisting his head from underneath Sloane's as the Plague's grip seemed to tighten about him, Chauhn squinted his eyes through his matted bangs to where Jin-Ho scrambled onto the stage to reach them.

It took a few swallows and dry choking to retch out a few more words of his own. Chauhn stated, "Clurie's 'ere, 'n' m'pocket...'mmfine." in response to both Blaithe's and the Imisese scribe's questions. He nodded again and muttered a weak, "Two." to answer the question about the bells.

Sure enough, one familiar head, the ash smeared cap of Clurie and the two others of silver and gold, crawled up to his collar, peaking out from the darkness from within Chauhn's clothing. They blinked and squinted, coughing and breathing with difficulty, the Excitos kept within Chauhn's collar, quiet and too frightened to speak. The only movement Clurie gave to acknowledge Blaithe, was a slight tip of the hat, which lacked a characteristic "ello Gov'ner" from the Phasmas. The glow in his cheeks was gone, and he shivered and shuddered, though he knew not if it were from the cold or from the numbing horror he had seen in the Locos' murder.

Chauhn, was able to speak for both Clemmings, "Ah...Ah dun wan' t'be 'ere anymore."

* UPDATED POST IN CONJUNCTION WITH LORE'S UPDATED POST

The exchange between Jin-ho and Chauhn was largely lost on Sloane; he could hear their voices and tones but no words were made out, everything accompanied with a dull tone overlapping and drowning it all out. He watched their faces move, saw the pained expressions of both human and Plague and their identical sets of companions now multiplied once more.

All Sloane could discern from the conversation was the repetition of his Lady's name and his eyes were beginning to scan the distance. Chauhn had mentioned her, but why? Beatrix had gotten away, she was nowhere to be seen and his Lady had not come out here. What need would she have had to watch a performance like this?

Suddenly, his eyes locked onto something in the distance and Sloane's arm went limp, sliding off of Chauhn's back as he turned to face the open area, blots of red and black and the occasional body from people who had tripped and been trampled or the few he had managed to slew. Without a word to the rest of the group, Sloane stumbled forward and slowly gained a momentum, beelining towards 'Lady Estratus', muttering through his huffing breaths as his hammering heart replaced all other sound. "Sage..." Occasionally he would stumble, the bells giving tiny jingling squeaks of surprise, but they were not dislodged and clung tighter to the hem of his collar.

Something was wrong, the sword Plague took note the closer he got. She was running, and not at something in order to stand against it and rise to victory. She was running away from something and she was afraid. His pace quickened, moving into a steady and determined run as he appeared to gain some clarity and stability, calling her name louder, "Sage!" As far as he could tell, nothing was chasing her, so what was she trying so hard to run from? Abruptly she stopped and bent down, mimicking his own actions from earlier. She was gathering up the tiny bells, keeping them safe!

Huffing, Sloane slowed and stopped near her, avoiding the many balls he had missed wandering about the ground. He bent down on one knee, first taking one of her wrists but let go as she kept trying to move and pocket as many tiny bodies, injured or otherwise, as she could. Breathing heavily, Sloane let out a choke and squeezed his eyes shut, clutching at Beatrix's shoulder and burying his face in the other.

This wasn't right.

She wasn't the right height and her shoulders were more bony. Her smell, it was all wrong. A quiet sound escaped him, just barely a gasp as reality hit him full force and he pulled himself away from Beatrix, releasing her, stepping lightly around the tiny bells. He had actually fallen for the deception, the shock of it all clouding his sense of reality.

Carefully, he began gathering more of them up as well and the two who had stuck with him chirped and chimed to their brethren, waving and calling out reassurances.

"It is alright!"

"He is helping!"

Sighing quietly, his eyes found the ground and bells once more before he spoke directly to her. "...Beatrix?"

The Imisese scribe lifted up to his knees, echoing an idea that Chauhn supported with every fiber in his aching body. Castle. He wanted to go to the castle, go back to his Lord and crawl into his room, rearrange his room into something that resembled comfort for the urchin, and sleep underneath the bed. He focused his energy through the funnels of his trembling arms to force himself up from the ground, bearing those thoughts of sanctuary for both him and his brother, and the two little Excito now attached to his collar. He may have been weary and tired, exhausted beyond belief, but he was still ramped on his young adrenaline. Without even thinking, Chauhn disinclined the offered hand, not intending to be rude, but simply to rely on his own strength. Chauhn very rarely accepted little gestures of kindness without being able to reciprocate the gesture in some manner. This wasn't one of those times. He wasn't sporting broken legs or sliced calves, he was fine. Though, when he lifted up completely from the stage, he winced and wrapped his arm around his side, pausing momentarily to fight back the sting of pain that bloomed there. A few breaths was all it took to momentarily dispel the ache, and Chauhn was on his feet again, making his way towards the edge of the stage, careful of where he might step, either into smeared marks of blood and black, or onto the crushed and spurted remains of the newly born Excitos. He wanted to step in neither.

As the urchin, the scribe, and the woman, Elsie, who had been, up to that point, completely blind from Chauhn's panicked actions, retreated from the stage towards where the clergyman huddled against the edge of the stage, the Sword Plague gasped and leaped away from them, throwing himself into a clumsy beeline towards the distance figure of Lady Estratus. Chauhn made the motion to catch his wrist, but it was a weak and weary motion, falling several seconds short.

"Sloane..." Chauhn muttered, watching as the Plague moved away from him, but still, Chauhn felt alright, he felt confident enough to defend himself from anything that might still show up with Sloane away from his side. The Clemmings boy quieted, and instead, carefully lowered himself from the stage, making sure that the Plagues within his shirt were safe and sound.

After successfully scaling the stage and dropping to a clumsy landing in the snow and sludge, freckled with twisted and broken bodies, Chauhn turned about, and, with red eyes, blinked wildly for a few several faces he hoped were still safe. First glance didn't reveal to him the whereabouts of either Georgie, his only friend his age, or his flaxen brother, Adal, and Chauhn felt his gut wrap and twist about itself in a frantic gargle of fear. He sorely hoped that they hadn't been hurt, trampled by the fray or wound into some terrible predicament Chauhn was too busy to take notice of. But, Adal and Georgie were brothers, and it was that pretext that comforted him. Brothers helped one another, and he was sure that the Malt siblings had found each other and escaped to somewhere safe during the turmoil of the twisted carnival.

Second glance told him exactly where Lord Yizhaq was, a tall figure striding purposefully towards them from having recently abandoned the presence of Sloane and his "Lady". Chauhn pointed at the Lord with a trembling figure, not taking his eyes off of his gallant figure, "M'lord," was all he was able to say to Jin-Ho beside him, "There." As if drawn forward by a moment that was not his, Chauhn stepped into a brisk trot, clumsily sloshing through the snow and guts and blood that carpeted the ground between him and Lord Yizhaq. Each breath he took grew more and more wobbly, just as his sight began to fill once more with moisture. He quickly covered the short distance between them to his master, shaking and quivering, but still, for some whatever crazed reason, trying to straighten his back and make himself his presentable page-self for the man. He was as pale and ashen as the cloudy sky above them, and with squinted green eyes, he bowed his head meekly before Lord Yizhaq, his hands shaking madly beside his thighs.

"M'lord?" Chauhn asked, his voice unable to summon more words, but clearly asking for what he must do as his Lord's page. Traumatized or not, Chauhn still had to earn his bread.

Somehow in the midst of everything Elsie had managed to drop down into a rather undignified squatting position, her hands clasped over her ears as a roar of voices came rushing into her head and danced over her brain like an uncontrollable party. The noise had gotten significantly louder once Sloane had joined the fray on the stage and the performers all jumped off to reveal what they were, and Elsie found herself unable to move to even try and escape should she find herself in any immediate danger. It was foolish of her to just stay where she was, eyes wide open and mouth agape. Her knuckles were white from how hard her hands were pressed to the side of her head, and against her neck Noel was shouting in her ear. His voice was lost in the maelstrom that invaded the poor woman's mind and his normally chipper face quickly forced into a frown as the Plague Excito witnessed the chaos with uncaring eyes. It was almost as if he wished to ask 'is this all' when the dust settled and the crowds started to run away, though he found himself forcing Elsie to her feet somehow at the sounds of bells.

"Go, if you are going."

Wearily, moving as though she had never walked before initially, Elsie's movements were slow before she noticed the floating Excitos that had sprung up from the bells. The one she had dropped had turned into a small creature as well and it stayed where she left it, the little silver boy raising his face up and ringing with either laughter or confusion. It was only then that Elsie gave herself some speed and rolled off the platform and to the ground, grabbing at the silver bell-child and somehow managing to nab a gold one just in time. She felt a foot contact with her side as she struggled back up to her feet, all three Excitos carefully held in her arms (Noel had fallen down to his "brethren" in an effort to either speak and calm them or speak and command them).

"We need to mo-"

Just as suddenly as it had started the roar in her ears stopped as the crowds ebbed and silence started to fall over what had once been a joyous event, leaving Elsie to look around bewildered. She'd heard so many voices just now only to have them go silent, and a lurching in her stomach caused her to once again drop to her knees as whatever she had decided to eat before the show spilled over her lips and onto the ground. She hadn't gotten sick from the previous carnage she'd witnessed back at the Castle, so why was her body rejecting everything now? Heave after heave she coughed up anything and everything until it turned into bile, her mouth still open as she coughed and sputtered. It was not a beautiful sight, she should have been ashamed of herself, but all Elsie could think over was the silence and the two small bundles that joined Noel in her arms. There were dozens of others scattered around her, broken and bruised, and as she raised her head to look at them tears finally decided to try and sting the corner of her eyes.

They didn't fall, but stayed in place, as Elsie kept herself on the ground. Hopefully no one would notice her sorry sight.

There was nothing more any of them could do here. It seemed like all of the festival goers were already gone, no one to need help evacuating the area, no more tiny moving bodies in the snow. After so much commotion, the quiet seemed so very unnatural. Today had gone from joyful to sad, in merely a blink of an eye.

Blaithe had gone quiet once more, her attention on the injured, golden bell, as she sat in the lap of the silver boy. Having been so small, she could only sit beside the two, holding the other girl's hand in her own, gently stroking up and down her arm. It looked as if she had only been stepped on, her right foot and arm crushed and seemingly useless. She couldn't hold open her eyes for longer than a few seconds at a time, nor could she speak. Even the quiet sounds of a bell were missing from her. Blaithe held her and the boy close, though really, it was the boy doing the holding, being the biggest of the three.

Off the stage, Chauhn had rushed to his Lord's side. Jin-Ho didn't follow, but watched as the boy was reunited with the man, giving a bow if either chose to look his way. He then turned, facing more in the direction of Sloane and his "Lady," he took a step forward, halting just before his foot could finish its motions.

A small amount of force was being pushed against the bottom of his boot; a pair of hands, pushing him away before he could accidentally crush them. It was another silver boy, as he pulled his foot away, looking up at them from under the pile of muddy snow. Jin-Ho knelt down, offering his hand to the bell, who gratefully took it and climbed up. He was shivering, a mixture of fear and cold, and Jin-Ho placed him in the collar of his hood. He didn't want to soil the lining of Adal's hat.

Careful to look as he stepped, Jin-Ho walked forward again, the bell in his ear ringing with each movement.

As the man and the four Excito in his possession approached, he gave a short bow to both Beatrix and Sloane, barely moving his attention from the Plagues he carried. The one golden bell, though badly injured, could possibly be saved. She wouldn't be able to do much on her own, much like Blaithe, but that didn't bother Jin-Ho.

"Let's go."